Wide Awake
by VulcanCheesecake
Summary: There are times you wish you were dreaming more than ever. Then there are the times that seem like dreams.  Eames/Arthur   Containing brutal things happening to Arthur.  M for the later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't often Arthur got mad, but Eames had wound him up too much this time. He'd gone too far. He just would _not _listen to reason. It had started as some stupid argument about how best to design a dream, something about work as usual, but Arthur had not been in the best mood that morning, and it had turned out into a full shouting match across the table.

So when he got home and Cobb called to say he had a job for him, Arthur accepted without a second thought. It was unusual for him, but he was glad of something to do to take his mind off things. "The man whose dream you'll be going into is called Benjamin Darcy, and the guy who's hiring us hasn't told us his name. So just research Darcy, see what you can find, because this is one of those contracts that can easily turn sour. I can tell. There's something we've not been told-" Arthur stopped listening after that until Cobb put the phone down, turning on his computer to do the first part of his job; research.

When Arthur came across everything he was looking for near morning, he was almost shaking. He couldn't do this. He could _not _go into the dream of this man. But it was too late to call Cobb and ask him to find someone else. There _was _no one else. He decided he'd walk, taking his phone out of his pocket halfway down the street and dialling the first number he could think of.

Nobody answered, which didn't really surprise Arthur, but he spoke to the answering machine anyway.  
"I said I'd do this job and now I don't want to and I'll be there soon and I don't want to do it any more, I can't do it I..." he pressed the 'end call' button before his voice cracked.

Arthur stood outside the building Cobb was waiting inside with the client, composing himself into a professional attitude before climbing the staircase, wishing for one of his favourite paradox staircases more than ever.

He reached the top of course, and found Cobb in an ordinary room with the client, ordinary looking; suit, neat haircut. They both nodded in greeting to Arthur, who felt the pressing atmosphere of what he knew already, barely able to draw breath in the room. "Mr Charles, may I speak to you for just a moment before we begin?" Arthur ventured, using the agreed false name, seeing as Dom had had his own minor misgivings about the client, exceptionally polite, professional, giving nothing away. Cobb looked puzzled, but stepped outside the room anyway.

Even away from the eyes of the person the job would be done for Arthur stayed rigid, calm, stating monosyllabically. "I can't do the job Dom. Don't ask me why. Please, after all the years we've worked together, trust me."

Dom Cobb looked even more puzzled; Arthur _could _always do a job, even when it seemed impossible, and disappointed, which Arthur hated himself for, but nodded. He turned down the stairs, showing his anger at Arthur by leaving _him _to explain this to the client. Arthur stepped back into the room with difficulty, clearing his throat to get the attention of the client. "I'm afraid there's been a problem," he stated levelly, surprising himself. "Unfortunately neither I nor Mr Charles can accept your case due to prior engagements. We are of course, very happy to take the job at a later date, and I assure you we will make you our highest priority as soon as we can get hold of somebody who is free to complete the task." There, that sounded convincing and polite enough.

The man, who still hadn't given his name, replied in much the same tone as Arthur, clearly false manners. "I will, of course, respect your duties. This is a minor inconvenience and I will be in touch to arrange something." Arthur thanked him and turned to go, reaching the top of the stairs, hearing the shot ring out a moment before the pain bloomed in his thigh and he fell into nothingness before he hit what felt like every stair and more.

From his position on the floor, which he hadn't quite reached; he was almost upside down, sprawled on the last few steps, Arthur saw the client's face above him, twisted into something a lot more than a 'minor inconvenience'. "I know who you are, point man," his attacker said. "I never intended for you to see my secrets, the secrets of Benjamin Darcy, but I fully intend to find yours. How _do _you get inside people's minds? If I can find out...if I can do it myself..." Darcy trailed off, kneeling beside Arthur and pressing a hand to his forehead in a crude mockery of affection. "Oh I'm aware you won't give them to me. Not straight away anyway." And the world turned to darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke, Arthur had lost all sense of time. He hadn't known what time it was when he was speaking to the client, only that it had been a morning. He might have been asleep for minutes, hours or days. He couldn't be sure of anything any longer, other than what was waging inside his own body. He knew he hadn't been made to go into Benjamin Darcy's mind after all though, not in that way. He was left at the mercy of Darcy's mind, but it would all be real.

The pain, Arthur was sure of. He remembered the gunshot and falling down two flights of stairs and took it as an explanation as to why his right leg was in agony. Some nice bruises, he was sure. And judging by the way it hurt to draw breath a couple of cracked ribs too.

The restraint, Arthur was sure of. He was just lying on the floor, but he couldn't move his hand to see if his face was all right. He felt a particularly unpleasant crusting of drying blood from his nose and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He couldn't move his legs apart either. They were simple bindings; just rope tying his wrists and ankles together, but Arthur was utterly trapped.

All he could do was wait.

He didn't have to wait long however, before a door opened, the tiny chink of light painful to the eye Arthur could see out of. He tried again to raise his hands to shield his face, but was met with only a soft laugh. "It's all right point man. I will allow you a bath. I will do more than that in fact. I will _give _you a bath." Arthur was suddenly, startlingly aware his clothes were gone.

"Come on then, point man." Darcy grabbed one of Arthur's sinewy forearms in a grip that was far too tight, pulling him up though his right leg was impossible to put any weight on. As a result it was easy to lead Arthur, and that's precisely what Darcy did. The point man had no idea where he was, but he thought it might be this man's house, and he'd been thrown in a basement, seeing as he'd ended up in an ordinary looking bathroom.

It was pristine and white, the blinding tiles, bathtub and sink looking clean, almost clinical. The bath was already full of water, and Arthur was set beside it, propping himself up on the side and trying to get his breath back from the short excursion. "Look point man, I've already filled it for you," Darcy crooned. He watched Arthur for a few moments before he spoke again. "I want to start by asking you a few questions. Nothing hard, I promise." Arthur remembered the promise at the bottom of the stairs and fear began to touch him with icy fingers.

"You know who I am, don't you? Oh yes you do. But I don't know your name. Won't you tell me it?" Arthur's brain wasn't functioning properly, but somewhere in the haze of pain he got it together enough to offer a false identity. He had to protect Cobb and the others as best he could. "David. My name's David," he lied. Not well enough.  
"_Liar!" _Darcy's anger was quick, cold, and it only served to unnerve Arthur more. "_Who are you?" _  
Arthur paused. Too long. A hand caught him across the face, striking hard and splitting his lip. He was thrown backwards a little by the force of it, his back jarring against the edge of the bathtub. He drew breath quickly in shock and coughed out his real name. "Arthur. It's Arthur."

As soon as he had what he wanted, the man returned to his false pleasantry. "Now that wasn't too difficult was it? But you should learn Arthur; it's much easier just to give me what I want straight away. What's the name of the man who met me? The one who was with you? I know it's not really Mr Charles." This time, Arthur kept quiet, preparing himself for more blows. This wasn't about him, this was about Dom and Eames. He wouldn't let them be hurt. He wouldn't give away their secrets.

"Ah, you're not going to tell me? How brave, how noble, protecting your friends. But it will really get you nowhere, Arthur. You'll tell me one way or another." Arthur screwed his eyes shut when Darcy came towards him, unable to protect himself with his still bound hands. His legs had been freed so he could be walked, but he couldn't kick out with them; they hurt too much.

Arthur didn't feel anybody hitting him though, just twisting him, moving him so he was on his knees, his right leg screaming its protest, echoing off the walls of his mind, so he ventured to open his eyes, finding himself an inch from the water in the bath.

"What's his name?"

Silence.

Arthur's head was shoved down and forwards, and the water was so _cold _that he opened his mouth to gasp because he couldn't _breathe _and then it was all down his throat, suffocating him, choking him. His eyes were open, bitten by the freezing bathwater, but he felt himself losing his grip, the only thing stopping him from floating into darkness was the white hot pain in his thigh and the hands on the back of his neck, in his hair, holding on to him too tightly.

And then Arthur could breathe again, taking huge, shocked breaths. He wasn't dying anymore, but he felt icy trickles down his back where his sodden hair was dripping.  
"Who is he?"  
No, he wouldn't tell Darcy, he had to keep Dom safe. He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't.

He was underwater again just as quickly, the coldness seeping into his brain and waking him up, a blessing and a curse. He had the sense not to try and fight for breath this time, but he heard a roaring in his ears and felt the pressure in his lungs reach an unbearable point before he was pulled up again.

Darcy didn't even ask him a question before he shoved his head under for a third time after a second's pause. The white of the bathtub was turning grey around the edges and Arthur felt himself slipping, finally kicking out, struggling as he began to panic, trying to raise his head and meeting the resistance of large hands.

"Who is he, Arthur? Tell me his name, or this time I let you drown!" His face was pushed perilously close to the water again, and Arthur didn't doubt what Darcy said.  
"Cobb! His name is Dominic Cobb!" he cried out before he could stop himself. His heart sank immediately afterwards, not because of Darcy, but because he was weak. A coward. He'd given in when he'd promised himself, as well as Dom, that he wouldn't.

Darcy let him go though, leaving Arthur to lie back on the floor, dripping wet and shaking. He even undid the ropes around Arthur's wrists, which had been rubbed raw. He made sure Arthur was watching before pulling the plug, watching the water disappear down the drain. "You make such a fuss, darling," Darcy said, with a hint of exasperation and sympathy in his voice, as if he were talking to a five year old. "You should just tell me things, then I wouldn't have to hurt you so!"

Arthur looked up defiantly, forcing words from his aching throat, teeth gritted in anger. "I'm not the only one you hurt. I know about you, Benjamin Darcy. I know what you've done!" His voice was croaky, but it was still high pitched to his own ears. Arthur's attacker stiffened momentarily before continuing in the same smooth voice. "Of course. The point man knows, the point man finds out about clients. You know about me." Darcy stood, towering over Arthur and looking down at him, surveying him.

"Then the thought must also have occurred to you that you're _just _my type. Your youthful face and your immaculate body...no muscle...so _sleek. _Yes, one might almost believe you _are _just a child..." Arthur was filled with a fear more intense than anything before. He used his freed arm to grip the sides of the bath, trying desperately to stand, to get away because he didn't like the faraway look in Darcy's eyes.

He wasn't fast enough, and Darcy easily pushed him. For a sickening moment Arthur was falling again, reaching out for anything to hold onto to stop himself from going down, but all he succeeded in doing before his head hit the bottom of the tub was knock the shower on with one of his flailing hands.

Darcy stood above him again, and Arthur felt more exposed than ever. Hands gripped his hips, pressing into the prominent bones. Arthur didn't like this. Not at all. His heart began to pound.

"Just my type..." Darcy said, this time with a hint of menace. Arthur tried to look up at him, and only received another sharp slap across his face for his efforts. He bit his still sore lip to keep himself from making any more noise. He'd done enough already. "But you're different. You're a _whore _Arthur. You're Cobb's little _slut!" _

Arthur's good eye snapped open at the sudden change in Benjamin Darcy. His voice was harsh and the names he was using were hurtful. "I like to teach whores a lesson. I like to show them."

Arthur's hands scrabbled up the wall, trying to disentangle himself from the vicelike grip on his hips. "You won't escape." Arthur didn't need to be told that. He tried once more to push himself up with his aching arms, but something heavy caught him on the back of the head, and he hit the bottom of the bathtub again, his injured leg crushed painfully underneath him.

"Teach you a lesson..." was all Arthur heard before feeling an entirely different kind of agony as his deepest and most private place was invaded. He tensed, and that only made it worse, so much worse.

Benjamin jarred him with his cruel movements, the shock reverberating around his body, white hot pain running down his trapped leg. Arthur felt something tear, and stinging saltwater blurred his vision even as blood ran down the backs of his thighs. He screwed his eyes shut, his head banging on the white enamel with every thrust.

When Arthur opened his eye he could see water with a pinkish tinge running into the drain, feeling the cold droplets of water on his boiling skin. It vaguely registered in his mind that the blood was his, but he didn't care, he just wanted it to _stop _please, just stop. He might have whimpered, he might have screamed. He didn't know. All he knew was that the pain didn't lessen, though the man above him could move and hurt him more easily with the slick blood, pressing into the cut he had made.

After endless minutes, Darcy finished, Arthur feeling the sickening sensation of the man's orgasm inside him. Hands freed him and Arthur fell fully into the tub, the cold shower still running over him.

Somewhere, far above him Darcy laughed, tossing something to Arthur. It fell beside his face; a small red die landing on the number six. Arthur stared at it for a moment, realising what his totem meant before he did begin to scream, all the way to the basement Darcy dragged back him to.


	3. Chapter 3

The harsh grey sunlight of another morning pervaded Eames' eyelids, causing him to stir awake. Again. His phone bleeped, reminding him of a message. Oh yes, Arthur had called at an ungodly hour that morning. Probably crawling back and begging forgiveness. The thought came with a hint of bitterness, the point man was so _stubborn. _Everything had to be neat, meticulous, specific. He didn't imagine. Ironic that in their business he didn't _dream. _

Eames hadn't picked up the phone when Arthur had actually called him. He'd been pissed off that he'd called him so early in the morning, waking Eames up on his way to work. So let him wait. Let him come back on _Eames' _terms. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Eames pressed the phone to his ear, playing the message.

It wasn't Arthur apologising to him. It was Arthur trying to keep his voice straight while asking for Eames' help. Eames stared at his phone in confusion after the message ended, after hearing Arthur's usually smooth voice break at the end of his forced calm.

Eames shrugged, and called Arthur's home phone. He waited for the point man to pick up, expecting it after only a couple of rings, as usual, but it rang and rang through an empty house, eventually clicking on to the answering machine. "This is Arthur. I'm not in just now, but if you'd like to leave a message I'll make sure I call back." It was a boring, ordinary message. So like Arthur.

"It's Eames. Just checking to see if you're okay, yeah? Call me back when you get this." After all, they _were _friends, even if they _had _had an argument. He'd been the one Arthur had called, and Arthur hadn't sounded happy at all. On reflection, Arthur wouldn't usually call that early. Not unless he had a good reason.

Eames pushed the small worry to the back of his mind, calling Arthur's mobile. Again, it just rang until it clicked onto voicemail. That _was_odd. Arthur _always _had his phone switched on, and so had been the subject of many drunken phonecalls, or just ordinary phonecalls if Eames actually wanted a conversation. He was like that; sometimes he just wanted to talk to somebody because his flat felt lonely when he was there by himself. Everyone else had learned to turn their phone off, or ignore him. Not Arthur. Arthur would always answer.

"What's going on Arthur? You never turn your phone off. If you're mad at me can you please come over or call or something and tell me? I don't think you're mad though, it's not really like you. Just call when you can, would you?" Eames forgot he was speaking to nobody, wanting just to say hi to Arthur, just to make sure everything was fine.

Arthur would be with Cobb, of course he would. If he wasn't at home he was at work. And on the rare occasions he wasn't in either of those places, he was with Eames. So Eames called Cobb; it seemed the logical thing to do. "Hey Dom. Can I talk to Arthur please?"  
Now it was Cobb's turn to sound confused. "Arthur's not here. Try his home number."  
Eames tried to keep exasperation and mounting uneasiness out of his voice "I've already tried. And his mobile. That's why I called to ask if he was with you."  
"I thought he was with _you!" _Cobb sounded worried, not hiding it.  
"No he's not here. We...we had a fight.-" Eames paused and then added with annoyance "Why _would _he be here?"

Eames heard Cobb sigh in exasperation on the end of the phone and say. "It doesn't matter _why. _What matters _now _is finding where he is." There was a pause before Cobb came back with "_shit."  
"_What?"  
"He told me he couldn't do the job. He didn't give me a reason and I didn't ask why. Shit shit _shit."  
_"What are you saying, Dom?" Though Eames had a pretty good idea and it made his heart beat uncomfortably. Cobb didn't answer so Eames continued "What do you know about the client? Where does he _live_, what did he _look_ like, what was his _name_?"  
"Um...no, he never gave a name, but he wanted us to extract from a Benjamin Darcy."  
"Look up that name. See if you can get anything. It might not be fake." Eames was taking charge because he couldn't let Dom handle this now. Arthur had gone somewhere and they couldn't find him because Dom hadn't had the sense to ask after him.

Eames ignored the realisation in the pit of his stomach that he too had ignored Arthur when he called him for help.

Why did he worry so about the point man? Eames knew full well it wasn't like Arthur was incapable of taking care of himself. He said nothing more to Cobb, ending the call and sighing in defeat, slamming his apartment door as he stormed out.

Didhe have a key to Arthur's house? No, Arthur wouldn't give one out to _him. _Eames barely realised he was driving there anyway, not until he was on Arthur's front doorstep. Nothing for it now, then; he kicked the door viciously, venting his rage.

Everything inside was as tidy and neat as Eames had expected it to be. Arthur didn't do mess. Why Eames had even come here he didn't know, because it was obvious Arthur wasn't home. His laptop had been left out on the coffee table though. Eames positioned himself on the sofa and turned it on, hoping he might find something, _anything _to help.

He spent an hour looking through Arthur's documents and history finding nothing but _there. _  
"Benjamin Darcy, 92 Luton Terrace. Previous convictions of-" It had been cut off, deliberately deleted, but they had an address. Arthur's notes were not usually so short. He was a point man, researcher; he put in so much more detail than this. Eames didn't have time to concern himself with that now, though.

He was back on the phone to Cobb in a minute, driving too quickly, too precariously through town.  
"I've got an address Dom. No, look just wait at the warehouse. No just _wait._ I'll come and get you." Eames had no time for anybody now. Anybody but Arthur.

Again, Eames drove too fast, but he had a tiny shred of hope now, annoyed at having to stop to pick up Cobb but he didn't really have a reason to be. He headed downtown, looking for Luton Terrace, Dom pointing it out eventually as a suburb of huge townhouses for the citizens who could afford extortionate rents for bragging rights. It looked like the kind of place Arthur would dream of _living_ in. It was the kind of place where everybody was far too polite to question their rich neighbours' business. It was the place a person, if they were so inclined, could torture someone and hide them in their basement, and nobody would think to look there.

Eames pulled up outside number 92, wasting no time in storming up the front path, banging on the door to have it opened by a well dressed man, the kind who wore business suits – always plain, never pinstriped; that would undermine his sophistication – on weekends. His hair was neatly combed without a hint of gel and he smiled pleasantly when he saw Eames. The smile didn't reach his eyes though, and there was something a little off about them. They were a piercing blue, the kind that could either look friendly and inviting or, in the case of this man, like shards of ice. Suddenly his exposed perfectly straight teeth seemed too white, too sharp. Eames glanced at the man's hands; long fingers that could either caress or deliver agonising blows. Or strangle with skill.

He cleared his throat, nodding imperceptibly to Cobb, who stepped from the car and joined him on the step. "Mr Darcy, I presume?"  
"Yes, Benjamin Darcy. Ah Mr Charles," he 'smiled' again in recognition of Dom. "Is this about that extraction?"  
"If we can come in? This is my colleague," Cobb answered by way of explanation, not waiting before stepping over the threshold.

Arthur heard footsteps overhead, somewhere in his daze. The murmurs of those voices seemed familiar, but couldn't possibly be. Who knew he was here?

Eames could see Darcy was not comfortable having them in his house. The man kept glancing around furtively, eyes darting everywhere as if checking everything he was trying to keep under wraps was properly hidden. So far they had no proof he knew anything about Arthur's whereabouts, but this was enough for Eames.

It wasn't just the whim of a worried friend, seeing things that weren't there; Eames studied peoples' behaviour in depth as his occupation, and he was very good at what he did. People were studied as potential marks, as potential targets to forge.

Darcy spoke first, interrupting Cobb's pacing of the hallway, looking for hiding places probably. "I know who you are and I know why you're here." His tone was now as icy as his eyes; he _did _know and he wasted no more time on pretense. The extractor's own eyes flared and his tone was sharp. "How do you know? Who am I?" Darcy smirked, knowing he had them.  
"Dominic Cobb. Your ever so co operative point man supplied me with the information. He was compliant enough. I didn't have to hurt him. Not too much anyway. I didn't _have _to."

Eames _knew _Darcy was trying to get a reaction. He _knew _he was deliberately playing with them. But the stress of the past few hours had kept him tense and he couldn't see straight, couldn't _feel _properly, couldn't stay calm. He had the man, whose smugness slid from his face in an instant, in his grip. "Where is he?" Eames' voice was raised without him meaning it to be. For a second, Darcy smirked again and shook his head to indicate he wasn't telling.

Cobb however, had found the entrance to the basement, descending the stairs with Eames following, still gripping Darcy. Cobb stopped, almost physically unable to move forward when he saw the state of their point man lying on the floor.

Eames couldn't take it and his fist collided with Darcy's finely chiselled nose.

He could barely see or register anything any more. He concentrated on how it released his shock, his tension and anger, causing hurt to this man. He didn't stop until Dom wrestled him off. He didn't register until Dom kept hold of his arms. "Look at what you've done!"

Benjamin Darcy was breathing hard, as Eames was, sitting on the floor with his face covered in blood, drifting now and then almost into unconsciousness. "We don't need to be caught for this," Dom hissed. "Just get Arthur out of here _right _now."

Eames did as he was told, of course he did. The point man had been stripped to his underwear and without even thinking about it Eames tore the buttons open on his own shirt, ripping it from his shoulders so he only had the white tshirt he wore under it, and putting it over Arthur's, hauling him to his feet and limping painfully up the stairs and down the seemingly endless hallway.

Cobb, after evidently finishing threatening Darcy sighed audibly and took it upon himself to pick the struggling point man up. Not that he weighed much. Eames felt a tiny flicker of anger at this, but paid it no mind. After endless seconds Dom and Arthur were in the back seat, Eames at the wheel.

"Fucking _drive!" _


End file.
